That's interesting. This is the biggest issue, probably - not knowing details. I love the idea of the clown puppet story kicking off an EON revival.
Here's one I made on Twitter when I asked for a Jessie Brewer exit plot:
Jessie Brewer's Farewell Storyline (Hypothetical Episodes, February-March 1991) After nearly 28 years on the seventh floor, Nurse Jessie Brewer decides it's time to step away from General Hospital and start a new chapter.
The storyline begins with Jessie reflecting on her life during a quiet shift. She's been feeling the weight of the years—the losses of Phil (multiple times over), her brief marriages, the patients she's cared for, and the friends who've come and gone. In a tender scene with her dearest friend, Audrey Hardy, Jessie confides that she's received an offer she can't refuse: a position heading up nursing training and patient care outreach for a new community health clinic in a small coastal town upstate, near where she grew up. It's a chance to mentor young nurses, focus on preventive care, and finally prioritize her own well-being away from the high-stakes drama of Port Charles.
Steve Hardy, now Chief of Staff and like a brother to her, is initially stunned. In his office, they share a poignant conversation reminiscing about the early days—the show's very first line she spoke ("Seventh floor, nurses station"), the crises they've weathered together, and how she's been the heart of the hospital. Steve tearfully admits the place won't be the same without her, but he supports her decision, telling her, "Jessie, you've given more than anyone could ask. It's time you let someone take care of you for a change."
Word spreads quickly through the hospital. Younger nurses like Bobbie Spencer (whom Jessie mentored) and Amy Vining organize a surprise farewell party in the nurses' lounge, complete with a cake inscribed "To the Original Angel of the Seventh Floor." There are speeches, laughs, and tears—Epiphany isn't there yet, but the spirit of the nursing staff rallying around her is strong. Even some old faces return briefly: a mention of Lucille March (Audrey's sister), and perhaps a phone call from a former colleague.
In her final scenes, Jessie packs up her locker, pausing over old photos (including one from the 1963 premiere). She has one last heart-to-heart with Audrey over coffee, where they promise to visit often and reflect on how far the hospital—and women in nursing—have come. Jessie says, "I've loved every minute here, even the hard ones. But I think there's a little more life out there waiting for me."
On her last day, Jessie walks the halls one final time, saying quiet goodbyes to patients and staff. At the elevators, Steve and Audrey see her off. She hugs them both, smiles through tears, and says, "This isn't goodbye—it's just... until we meet again." As the doors close, the camera lingers on Steve and Audrey, arm in arm, watching her go.
The episode ends with a dedication card: "In loving memory of the nurses who've dedicated their lives to healing others."
This exit would have allowed Jessie to leave on a high note—happy, fulfilled, and alive—perhaps opening the door for occasional returns. It celebrates her as the foundational heroine of General Hospital, giving fans the emotional closure the real-life circumstances sadly prevented.
This was a more dramatic version:
Jessie Brewer's Tragic Yet Triumphant Farewell (Hypothetical Episodes, February-March 1991)
The storyline kicks off during a massive crisis at General Hospital: a severe winter storm hits Port Charles, causing a multi-car pileup on the highway and flooding the ER with critically injured patients. Power flickers, supplies run low, and the staff is stretched to the breaking point—echoing the high-stakes disasters GH has weathered over the years.
Jessie Brewer, ever the dedicated nurse, has been pulling double shifts. Lately, she's been experiencing unexplained fatigue and chest pains, which she's brushed off as "just the years catching up." In a quiet moment amid the chaos, she confides in Audrey Hardy that she's been thinking about retiring soon—perhaps moving to that coastal clinic upstate to finally find some peace after a lifetime of heartache (losing Phil repeatedly, her failed marriages, the babies she never had).
But fate intervenes dramatically. As the storm rages, a young patient—a teenage girl involved in the pileup—codes in the ER. Jessie, ignoring her own worsening pain, leaps into action, performing CPR and directing the crash team with the steady authority she's honed since 1963. She saves the girl's life, but in the exertion, Jessie collapses, clutching her chest. It's a massive heart attack.
The hospital turns its focus to saving one of its own. Steve Hardy, fighting back tears, leads the code in the very ER where they've saved countless lives together. Audrey holds Jessie's hand, whispering memories of their early days. Flashbacks intercut the frantic resuscitation: Jessie's first day speaking the iconic line ("Seventh floor, nurses station"), her turbulent marriages, mentoring younger nurses like Bobbie, and quiet moments of unrequited affection for Steve.
Against the odds, Jessie stabilizes—but the damage is severe. In her hospital bed (a poignant reversal, as she's now the patient), surrounded by Steve, Audrey, Bobbie, Amy, and even some returning faces via phone or brief appearances, Jessie reflects on her life. In an emotional monologue, she admits her regrets—the loves lost, the dreams deferred—but declares she's proud of the lives she's touched. To Steve, in a raw, long-overdue confession, she says, "You've been my rock, Steve... maybe in another life, we could've..." (leaving their unspoken bond hanging, true to soap tradition).
Doctors deliver the news: her heart is too weakened for her to continue the demanding life of a nurse. With quiet resolve—and a touch of defiance—Jessie decides this is her sign to step away. She accepts the offer to lead the community clinic upstate, vowing to mentor from afar rather than risk another attack on the front lines.
The farewell builds to a gut-wrenching climax: a hospital-wide gathering in the lobby (storm cleared, symbolic sunshine breaking through). Nurses line the halls as Jessie, in a wheelchair pushed by Steve, makes her final walk out. Tears flow freely—speeches from colleagues, a cake reading "Forever Our Guiding Light," and patients she's saved over the decades sending well-wishes. Audrey sobs in her arms, promising eternal friendship. Steve, voice breaking, tells her, "This hospital started with you, Jessie. It'll never be the same."
At the doors, Jessie stands one last time, looks back at the seventh floor, and whispers, "I've given everything I have... and it's been enough." She hugs Steve fiercely, then steps into a waiting car for her new beginning—alive, but forever changed.
The episode fades with a montage of Jessie's greatest moments, set to swelling music, ending on a dedication: "To the nurses who heal us all—with endless gratitude."
This version heightens the drama with life-threatening peril, heroic sacrifice, emotional revelations, and a grand send-off rally, while keeping her exit hopeful (she survives and moves on). It's pure classic GH: tears, triumph, and closure.
By
DRW50 ·
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